


Swoon

by strangeera



Series: Psychic Chasms [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Demon Stiles, Horror, M/M, Non Consensual
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-11
Updated: 2013-01-11
Packaged: 2017-11-25 02:39:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/634243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeera/pseuds/strangeera





	Swoon

He's chained to an old bed with no mattress in an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town when he wakes up. It's dark but not cold, and he's bruised all over but not bleeding. Not yet. Stiles' reappears, but Derek knows.

He doesn't remember how it happened. How he was taken. He already knows that this creature, this dusty ugly shell full of cobwebs and broken glass, crooked and dripping ooze in the dark, wearing Stiles' old goofy smile that once inspired a strange, sad nostalgia for the past; for his mom, his sister. Now it only inspires horror, dread, utter devastation? - and he already knows Stiles is gone. It descends slowly at first, a vague cloud of misery, dull, then – faster, until he's crying all over himself and can't feel his legs. Vomit rises and spills. He can't feel anything. There's nothing.

“Steady there, cutie,” the demon offers, still smiling that phoney corrupted smile, blunt white teeth glinting dimly in the low light – fingering a baseball bat. Derek can't stand it. He wonders if he's dead already, covered in vomit and bruises that he knows will never heal. They mean too much. They weren't friends. They weren't anything.

Then why does it feel so fucking cataclysmic.

“Isn't this what you always wanted?” it whispers. “Bound and naked, at the mercy of this little shit? He never even liked you,” it says, voice rising, bottomless eyes glinting like rubies, “don't you just wanna fuck this little prick up?” A lightbulb explodes. It gets darker.

A knife to the chest. Derek can feel it, throbbing around inside. He's dying, he can feel it. Every infected breath he takes, he's vanishing. Ceasing to exist. He wonders if it was quick. He thinks it probably wasn't.

“Look on the brightside, hottie,” it says, and every word pushes the knife deeper. He's falling apart. He's suddenly so aware of his spine. “Now you can do whatever you want. I'll skip out, you do whatever – I'll keep the body nice and warm. What do you say?”

 

-

 

Last week. It's Halloween when he attempts it. Contacting her. It's always Halloween, because, Stiles figures, Halloween is the best time to contact the dead; he's seen enough movies to know what's up and his mom always told him “the veil is thin” or something. The board he uses was hers. He finds it easily enough, in his dad's closet with a few of her things. They all still smell like her.

Stiles still remembers the last time. How happy she was, the things his grandfather had said. Or you know. His mom crying for a long time, and visiting the hospital. After that, well. This year will be the fifth time he's tried. Today will be different, Stiles thinks.

He'll do it in the graveyard behind his house, he decides; his mom always told him to never do this stuff at home, and she's buried there. He hates the idea of his mom, stuck in that old graveyard forever, alone in the dark, but he doesn't push it away. It's all he has. He selfishly hopes she's still there. Waiting.

He doesn't tell anybody what he's doing. Nobody asks when he tells them he's going to the graveyard, not anymore. They all just nod and look sad. Stiles hates that. His dad isn't home. He's done this before, anyway. It'll be fine, he thinks. Easy.

He counts to three. It's warm out tonight. One. Two. Three. He touches the dial.

There's nothing. He waits for an hour and twelve, thirteen, fourteen minutes. Nothing. Next year, he thinks. For sure.

 

-

 

Below, the demon ascends. Burrows, up. It's been waiting. That ugly hippie cunt, she's gone. The board calls. The kid will do.

 

-

 

Four agonizing days, it waits. There are rules.

 

-

 

It takes the kid quick and easy on the fifth day. It's raining. There's no commotion, no anything. There never is. An iPod lays on the ground, plays for nine days non stop, then dies.

 

-

 

The first thing it does with the body is eat. It eats for hours, constantly. Inside, there's nothing. 

 

-

 

The best friend – that won't work, it thinks. They love each other. Boring love. The clean kind of love that means nothing. The reptile. Too slippery. Betas – no.

The alpha?


End file.
